Can't Sleep Through Thunder

There are a lot of reasons for not sleeping during a thunder storm.  Some of my personal reasons include the fact I don't yet understand what the noise is all about.  It has been explained to me in terms having to do with air currents in the upper atmosphere, but I don't care for the explanations.  I still bark on the porch until someone lets me in to the living room where I feel safe between the coffee table and the couch.

Big noises ought to bring us together.  Too often, I think, we scatter and endure disturbances alone.  That only escalates my frightening fantasies of what is happening.  Being close to someone else calms me.

Another reason for staying awake during any storm is storms are a great time for sitting together and telling stories.  Sister Jan tells us about storms on the Kilian farm when she was a child.  She enjoys thunderstorms.  They bring memories of her Dad coming in from the field in the middle of the day.  The rain would cool down a warm day and the family would sit together on their screened porch and watch the majestic show of lightening, wind, and bowing trees. 

Minnesota is having lots of thunderstorms this summer.  Gather with loved ones.  Try to enjoy God's show.   Here is the double rainbow Sister Carol photographed over the House of Francis hermitage after an especially big storm that was well deserving of an academy award for sound effects, choreography and the best actors in the universe. 


Creative Chickens

Everybody has to get creative about work places these days.  What do you do to your work place to make it pleasing to you?

Are you satisfied with the place assigned to you?  Or, do you create your own spot to do your job?  If you are one of the latter, you are very much like the chickens with whom I share this farm.

Look closely amid all the "stuff" on this work bench in our garage.  See the red head of the hen who has claimed this place to lay her daily egg?  It is far from cushy and convenient like the nests provided out in the barn.  She defies her employers' expectations by choosing the hard wood in this crowded spot behind the grinder motor.  If the garage door is closed, she paces the ground outside until someone opens the door for her. 

Others of my chicken farm-mates also scorn the supplied nests.  When the Sisters collect eggs at the end of each day, they have to look not only in the garage, but also in a worn-down place in the cement in the barn aisle, in the hay mow, behind gates, under the table, on top of the old refrigerator, in flower beds and even in my dog house!  Oh yes, a few eggs may be found in the old fashioned nests.   So, who do you think is in charge of this retreat farm?